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Category: No-Hitter Etiquette

The no-hitter thrown by Oakland pitcher Sean Manaea against the Red Sox on Saturday gave us more than a dominating outing against baseball’s best team. It also gave us another peek into the superstitious morass found in major league dugouts when it comes to jinx avoidance.

For Manaea’s part, he said he didn’t even realize that he had a no-hitter going until the eighth, thanks to a tough error charged on Marcus Semien in the fifth, a play the pitcher assumed was ruled a hit.

Manager Bob Melvin, of course, was under no such misconceptions. “I didn’t even look at [Manaea] after the sixth inning,” the skipper said in a San Francisco Chronicle report. The idea, of course, is that mentioning a no-hitter during a no-hitter will somehow jinx the no-hittter. Looking at Manaea would have been a surefire way for Melvin to guarantee Boston’s first hit.

There’s an entire chapter devoted to this in The Baseball Codes. Manaea and Melvin are no strangers to the dance, the latter having removed the former from the middle of a different no-hitter almost exactly a year ago.

The manager was worried about having to do something similar again on Saturday, only this time in the ninth inning. The right-hander walked Andrew Benintendi with two outs, Hanley Ramirez and J.D. Martinez were the next two Sox hitters, Manaea was over 100 pitches for the first time this season, and the A’s led only 3-0. For Melvin, one of the more superstitious managers in the sport, having his closer so much as throw a warm-up pitch in the bullpen had the potential to anger the Baseball Gods. With that in mind, Blake Treinen began to stretch, but never picked up a ball.

It worked. Ramirez grounded to shortstop, the A’s forced Benintendi at second, and Manaea had his no-no.

The Red Sox, of course, were under no such auspices. Their Twitter feed did whatever it could to sway history.

NO HITTER. NO HITTER. NO HITTER. NO HITTER. NO HITTER. NO HITTER. NO HITTER. NO HITTER. NO HITTER. NO HITTER. NO HITTER. NO HITTER. NO HITTER. NO HITTER. NO HITTER. NO HITTER. NO HITTER. NO HITTER. NO HITTER. NO HITTER. NO HITTER. NO HITTER. NO HITTER. NO HITTER. NO HITTER. https://t.co/hdPQYtYRZM

Baseball’s unwritten rules have a pervasive role in the fabric of the sport, helping to maintain a degree of respect and decorum. That part is good. But sometimes they’re just stupid.

Take yesterday. In the sixth inning of the Nationals-Marlins game, with Washington’s Gio Gonzalez throwing a no-hitter, Florida’s Dee Gordon thought about trying to bunt for a hit.

Typically, this is a no-no. We’ve already looked back this season at the infamous Ben Davis bunt that broke up Curt Schilling’s perfect game in 2001.

Except that Davis was a slow-footed catcher who had never bunted for a hit in his life. Gordon is second in the National League with 38 steals, a player for whom bunting is an essential tool. Also, it was a 1-0 game and Gordon represented the tying run.

“My game is to bunt,” Gordon said in a Miami Herald report, discussing his consternation over the unwritten rules. “I didn’t know if I could bunt or not. I was kind of in a weird situation for myself.”

Gordon didn’t bunt. Instead, he struck out. When he came up again in the ninth, Gonzalez’s no-hitter was still intact. Gordon didn’t even consider bunting.

The unwritten rule—not to mention conventional wisdom—is that one doesn’t pull one’s pitcher while he’s throwing a no-hitter. Managers have gone to great lengths to protect this credo, notably during Johan Santana’s 134-pitch no-no in 2012, which left him with an indelible mark on history … and ruined his arm forever. (Santana put up an 8.27 ERA in 10 more starts for the Mets that season before being shut down, and hasn’t pitched in the big leagues since.)

Santana’s manager in that game, Terry Collins, left him in for a variety of reasons, among which was the Mets having never thrown a no-hitter. Over the weekend, A’s skipper Bob Melvin and Marlins boss Don Mattingly were under no such constraints.

On Saturday in Oakland, 25-year-old Sean Manaea came hot out of the gate against the Astros, cruising through the first five innings, during which he struck out six, walked two and gave up no hits.

Then came the sixth. With the A’s holding a 5-0 lead, Manaea walked the first batter, then the second, then the third. It took him only 15 pitches to do so, the last eight of them balls. When Carlos Correa smoked a line drive that ricocheted off the glove of shortstop Adam Rosales, leading to two runs, Melvin had seen enough.

Manaea, in only his third start of the season, was at 98 pitches. Even if he stayed in, there was virtually no chance he’d be able to finish the game. Melvin pulled him.

(It should be noted that Melvin had been primed to do the same thing five years ago—the day after Santana’s feat—as Jarrod Parker spun no-hit ball, but Parker gave up a hit before his manager could take action.)

On Sunday, Mattingly found himself in similar circumstances when Marlins pitcher Dan Straily entered the sixth without having given up a hit. After Straily walked consecutive batters, however—giving him five on the day and bringing him to 93 pitches—he was sent to the showers. Noteworthy was that Miami led only 1-0 at the time, and Mattingly’s maneuver was aimed as much toward securing a victory as it was protecting Straily.

That the Astros, after being no-hit into the sixth inning, ended up scoring 10 runs on the day, is interesting. So is the fact that in Miami, J.T. Riddle hit his first career homer only moments after the would-be winning run was thrown out at the plate, to salt the game away for the Marlins.

Neither detail, however, superseded the fact that Melvin and Mattingly pulled their pitchers in the middle of no-hitters, not to mention that both moves were the right thing to do.

Talk surrounding the decision of Dodgers’ manager Dave Roberts to pull Ross Stripling from the middle of a own no-hitter on Friday was based largely on the fact that he was a rookie. Stripling, sure—but also Roberts.

Stripling was making his first major league start. He was at 100 pitches when pulled, after having maxed out at 78 pitches through spring training. He missed all of 2014 rehabbing from Tommy John surgery, and spent last season making his way back.

These are valid concerns. Perhaps if Roberts had more than four games under his belt as a big league skipper at the time, people wouldn’t have been quite so vociferous with their objections.

Then again, he did break an unwritten rule … or at least a portion of one. The overarching theory has to do with not changing anything during a no-hitter, from the defensive alignment behind a pitcher to the spots on the bench occupied by his teammates. This also covers the pitcher himself, although when a guy is going that well he is usually beyond consideration of being removed.

It’s all just superstition, of course, and it’s not like managers hadn’t done this kind of thing before.

In 2010, Twins manager Ron Gardenhire pulled Kevin Slowey after seven innings of no-hit ball after the right-hander , who had just skipped a start due to elbow soreness, had thrown 106 pitches.

Only eight days later, Rangers manager Ron Washington pulled Rich Harden from a no-hitter, in his first start back off the DL, after 111 pitches. Other instances abound:

1991: Atlanta’s Kent Mercker left after six no-hit innings, in his second start of the year following 44 relief appearances, none of which were longer than two frames.

1991: Anaheim’s Mark Langston went seven innings (98 pitches) against the Mariners in his first start of the season, after throwing only 16 innings during spring training due to a lockout.

1975: Oakland’s Vida Blue was removed after the fifth on the season’s final day, a timeframe predetermined by manager Alvin Dark in an effort to keep the pitcher fresh for the playoffs.

Manager Preston Gomez actually pulled the trick twice, once with the Padres in 1970 (removing Clay Kirby, who trailed, 1-0 at the time), and again in 1974 with the Astros, pulling Don Wilson (who also trailed, 2-1).

Those examples, however, carry less weight than one instance that should have been included on this list. On June 30, 2012, Mets manager Terry Collins succumbed to popular (and historical) sentiment, and allowed pitcher Johan Santana to complete an eight-inning no-hitter. Lending weight to his decision was that it was the first in Mets’ history. Unfortunately, it took the lefthander 134 pitches to do it.

Santana had missed the entire previous season after shoulder surgery, and Collins had him on a strict 115-pitch limit … right up until history came calling. Santana pulled it off, but at a cost: He made five more starts that season, losing them all while compiling an astounding 15.63 ERA. He was shut down that August and hasn’t pitched in the big leagues since.

In light of that detail, pulling Stripling was the logical choice. Perhaps Roberts could have left him in a few batters longer, but, with the guy’s control deserting him—he walked the final batter he faced—it seemed obvious that relief help would be needed at some point. And if that was the case, why keep him in any longer than necessary?

It wasn’t only Roberts who felt this way. Giants manager Bruce Bochy defended his counterpart, saying in an Associated Press report that “It’s the kid’s first start and they have to take care of him … You have to look after his health, and that’s what they were doing.” Even Stripling’s father offered up support for the decision.

Superstition is great, but players’ careers are far more important. Roberts made the right call.

Then Goose Gossage opened his mouth. In what appears to be coincidental timing, the Hall of Fame reliever unloaded to ESPN about noted bat-flipper Jose Bautista being “a fucking disgrace to the game,” among other choice sentiments that ran directly counter to Harper. Gossage, of course, is his generation’s It-Was-Better-When-I-Played standard-bearer, the guy to turn to for strident opinions.

His comments came in response to a benign question about new Yankees reliever Aroldis Chapman, and quickly veered not only to slamming Bautista, but to complaints about how “fucking nerds” who “don’t know shit” are ruining the game from front-office positions, that “fucking steroid user” Ryan Braun gets ovations in Milwaukee, and that modern relievers are too focused on pitch counts and not enough on the game itself.

Gossage, a world-class griper, was simply doing what he does best.

He would have been easier to dismiss had not Giants reliever Sergio Romo—one of the game’s free spirits, a guy loose enough to rock this t-shirt at the Giants’ 2012 victory parade—himself dismissed Harper later in the day.

“Don’t put your foot in your mouth when you’re the face of the game and you just won the MVP,” Romo said about Harper in a San Jose Mercury News report. “I’m sorry, but just shut up.”

In response to Harper’s comment that baseball “is a tired sport, because you can’t express yourself,” the reliever offered a succinct takedown.

“I’m pretty sure if someone has enough money,” he responded, “he can find another job if this is really tired.”

Thing is, Romo and Harper actually seem to agree about most of what they said. Romo is himself demonstrative on the mound, showing more emotion while pitching than perhaps anybody in Giants history. He took care to note, however, the difference between excitement and impudence.

“As emotional and as fiery as I am, I do my best not to look to the other dugout,” he said. “I look to the ground, I look to my dugout, to the sky, to the stands. It’s warranted to be excited. But there is a way to go about it to not show disrespect, not only to the other team but the game itself.”

With those four sentences, Romo cut to the heart of the issue. Contrary to those trying to position this as a cross-coast battle of wills, Harper did not say much to contradict that sentiment.

Baseball’s unwritten rules have changed markedly over the last decade. There is more acceptance of showmanship now than at any point in the sport’s history, and scattershot blasts from the likes of Goose Gossage will not slow that momentum. Because the Code has changed, however, does not mean that it is failing.

The real power of the unwritten rules lies in the maintenance of respect—between teams, within clubhouses and, as Romo went out of his way to note, for the game itself. This core value has not eroded at all.

What has changed over time is ballplayers’ ability to distinguish displays of emotion from displays of disrespect. When the mainstream decides that bat flips are an acceptable form of self-expression, they no longer have the power to offend.

The reason this hasn’t already gained universal acceptance is that not all bat flips (used here as a proxy for any number of emotional displays) are equal. Bautista’s display during last season’s playoffs was magnificent. Some bats are flipped, however, not with celebration in mind, but in an effort to denigrate the opposition. It might, as Romo noted, include a staredown of the pitcher (as Harper himself has been known to do). It might be some extra lingering around the box, or a glacial trot around the bases. At that point, the method of the opposition’s response—which includes the option of not responding at all—becomes a valid concern.

Romo talked about this distinction, and its importance to the game. Surprisingly, so did Harper.

The MVP noted that Jose Fernandez “will strike you out and stare you down into the dugout and pump his fist.” Because Harper doesn’t take it as a sign of disrespect, Harper doesn’t care. And if Fernandez does not intend it as such, nobody else should, either. (Worth noting is that Fernandez learned an important lesson in this regard early in his career.)

The main fault with Romo’s diatribe was that he inadvertently piggybacked it atop Gossage’s inane old-man ramblings. Still, he lent some nuance to a discourse which sorely needs it, and perhaps inadvertently pointed out that he and Harper have more in common than either of them might otherwise believe.

Ultimately, the question seems to be less “Can’t we all just get along?” than “Why haven’t we figured out that we’re getting along already?”

Mike Fiers’ no-hitter on Friday was as notable for his opponents’ reactions as for the event itself. Any no-hitter offers a significant degree of intrigue, but this one gained steam when the television broadcast appeared to show a shiny substance on Fiers’ glove in the ninth inning, assumed to be pine tar.

Rather than bemoan their fate at the hands of a possible cheater, however, the Dodgers took the appropriate path, issuing credit where it was due and downplaying any semblance of controversy.

“I don’t want to take anything away from his night,” Carl Crawford told the Los Angeles Times. Don Mattingly said, “I think it sounds like you’re whining if you look at it and talk about it,” and added (without accusation) that pine tar use is more or less accepted unless it’s “blatantly obvious.” (Fiers, for his part, denied everything.)

Regardless of whether Fiers was using a banned substance, those in the Los Angeles clubhouse know that they have pitchers among their own ranks who do that very thing—as does every club in baseball. And if every club does it, it’s not such a catastrophe. And if it’s not such a catastrophe, why paint it as such? Mattingly respected Fiers’ feat for what it was, exactly as he should have done.